Wednesday, August 21, 2013

Poem for Wednesday, Island Farm, Flying Daggers

The MasterBy Edwin Arlington Robinson

A flying word from here and thereHad sown the name at which we sneered,But soon the name was everywhere,To be reviled and then revered:A presence to be loved and feared,We cannot hide it, or denyThat we, the gentlemen who jeered,May be forgotten by and by.

He came when days were perilousAnd hearts of men were sore beguiled;And having made his note of us,He pondered and was reconciled.Was ever master yet so mildAs he, and so untamable?We doubted, even when he smiled,Not knowing what he knew so well.

He knew that undeceiving fateWould shame us whom he served unsought;He knew that he must wince and wait—The jest of those for whom he fought;He knew devoutly what he thoughtOf us and of our ridicule;He knew that we must all be taughtLike little children in a school.

We gave a glamour to the taskThat he encountered and saw through,But little of us did he ask,And little did we ever do.And what appears if we reviewThe season when we railed and chaffed?It is the face of one who knewThat we were learning while we laughed.

The face that in our vision feelsAgain the venom that we flung,Transfigured to the world revealsThe vigilance to which we clung.Shrewd, hallowed, harassed, and amongThe mysteries that are untold,The face we see was never young,Nor could it ever have been old.

For he, to whom we have appliedOur shopman's test of age and worth,Was elemental when he died,As he was ancient at his birth:The saddest among kings of earth, 45Bowed with a galling crown, this manMet rancor with a cryptic mirth,Laconic—and Olympian.

The love, the grandeur, and the fameAre bounded by the world alone; 50The calm, the smouldering, and the flameOf awful patience were his own:With him they are forever flownPast all our fond self-shadowings,Wherewith we cumber the Unknown 55As with inept Icarian wings.

For we were not as other men:'Twas ours to soar and his to see.But we are coming down again,And we shall come down pleasantly; 60Nor shall we longer disagreeOn what it is to be sublime,But flourish in our perigeeAnd have one Titan at a time.

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It was a pretty quiet Tuesday around here unless you want to hear about essays and laundry and stuff. Daniel went out to lunch with my father; Adam had to do a mandatory concussion screening before he went to cross country practice. Our neighborhood sidewalks are being replaced, meaning the jackhammering starts before 9 a.m., so for a change I was glad it was hot and I had an excuse to rely on air conditioning instead of having the windows open. Though I was worried about the bunnies with all the concrete dust in the air, I saw four of them in the late afternoon in their usual neighborhood spots.

Daniel has been offered a second teaching assistant position for next year, this one teaching engineering, which is awesome news. We watched the Mandarin-with-subtitles version of House of Flying Daggers after dinner since Adam needed to watch it for Chinese summer homework; the cinematography is gorgeous, as are the costumes and choreography, but it's not a happy story (lots of interesting women but also lots of stereotypical roles) and there are some enormous plot questions left unanswered as the credits roll. Some Roanoke Island Farm animals, including rescued wild horses from Corolla: